Grasp of the expelled Womb
by Roses-sketchbook
Summary: 10 years after Hellbound; Kirsty Cotton finds herself conceiving more than just the idea of how Xipe may be missing... {Pinhead/Kirsty}
1. Chapter 1: Grasp of the expelled womb

**Heyo once more my dumplings! I'm back, not dead yet, which i suppose is a plus. Ive gotten into more Hellraiser fanfiction, and I'm hoping to make this fic a chapter-based story instead of it being the short head cannon drabbles that I've been coming up with... so anyhow, thank you once again L.J Heywood for always making my day for leaving me reviews and comments that I do take on-board. Anyhow, this fanfiction contains sexual content, adult themes, inappropriate language, and its rated M for a reason~**

"you want it? you fucking _want it_?!" Kirsty had lust-filled predatory eyes, challenging Xipe's own by out-staring him, it was until when Kirsty had grinded the lower half of her slim form against his cassock, furthermore pushing the leather towards his stomach as it gradually got closer to what she desired. Her skimpy, almost non-existent underwear grinded against her own womanhood. Her ticket to pleasure was coming eventually.

Accompanied with the guttural moaning, Xipe most desperately wanted to taste her flesh, however, it was made difficult when he is forced to submit himself into her. It was her turn. She forcibly had held his hands above his head, forcing him to humiliate himself to her.

She had her way of forcing the hell priest into submission, it was made especially easy when he had a soft-spot for her.

"i like you like that.." she began, breathing in the side of his ear before her lips contorted into a grin of sorts. "you're all mine, Xipe" sucking his ear lobe, almost in victory; filled with pride as she watched him tilt his head back against the surface behind him. The pins in his head, very few, delve deeper into his cranium, bringing him both pleasure and pain alike. "You are in no position to amuse yourself at my expense, child" Kirsty merely just dragged her lips against his own, grinning as she was drunk on lust.

Kirsty tossed and turned in her bed ever so slightly, eyes waking to experience the darkness, the loneliness of her bedroom―reminding her thats exactly how her life is. Coated in a thin layer of sweat, Kirsty had just sighed among her sheets before glancing at the time, realising that its still very early in the morning. Too early, and its not like she would have too much to do before she did her daily routine of sorts.

"its been 10 years.. i still haven't.. seen _him_ " she whispered almost in a broken tone to herself, its not like anybody was there in her life to witness her saying that. She reminisced about their previous encounter; well, handing him flowers wasn't exactly the full-extent of their previous meeting. Much like her nightmare, just now. Only you'd find that it was laced with a warning:

"by do us come, flesh meeting flesh, death does follow.. _my_ Kirsty"

with absolutely no intention of heeding that warning, she bounded in the ritual of flesh against flesh, a taboo ritual is exercised once more with the hell-priest. Her eyes squinted against the darkness of her bedroom, rediscovering furniture and small ornaments that she knew existed, it was just about retracing where they were. She had noticed that, as of late her puzzle box, no matter how many times that she opens it, nothing ever happens. The box doesn't shift form either, its almost as if its dead. Perhaps.. perhaps that theres something wrong with it? Xipe truly isn't gone, is he?

As she went to roll over, she could begin to feel a sudden jab in her lower stomach, almost as if her ovaries are trying to murder her. But she knew she couldn't have that time.. all thought of what it could be dispersed as she ran to the bathroom to expel anything that she had eaten hours prior sleeping. She knew that he had left her a gift. Pain and pleasure still intended for her existence.

She knew that it had been many weeks ago that she had first conceived his child.


	2. Chapter 2:Etchings of the Heart's chords

**Im back again, writing more as i work on my Majors for Visual arts at college. Thanks to everybody who had faved my fan fictions and particularly this fic, as I was worried that it wouldn't make a good impression? i don't know. I honestly have no idea of where anything is going, Improvise the shit out of everything xD but yeah, anyhow, I wasn't supposed to be alive, and In all honesty I still am surprised but lets just say that it'd be a 'waste of good suffering'. -Sakura**

Chapter 2: etchings of the heart's chords

The sound of a pen clicking filled the room, sharpening the sense's attention to the tip of the pen emerging form its carcass of holding. The Psychiatrist, scribbling down notes of sorts; not really telling exactly what they are, but they're done at a pace that gave Kirsty a sense of unknowing― not knowing what she could possibly be writing about her. 'Notes? perhaps she has the nerve to write shit about me?'

Kirsty's attention was taken back as she was gently talked to by the woman dressed appropriately for her career, opposite her. She always had a habit of spacing out nowadays..

"Mrs Gooden?" she gently pressed, her eyes dawning tad bits and pieces of concern through blue eyes.

"oh um no actually its 'Cotton'.. I'm widowed" the careful reminder was stinging at her core; the truth was difficult to swallow for what happened to her husband; Trevor. Perhaps that thinking back on it on occasions, it was for the better.

"My apologies.. although, Miss Cotton, would you mind re-explaining to me the incident once more, perhaps, with an approach much like we are supposed to approach it― here in DBT therapy?" she gently risen the corner of her mouth. Kirsty's eyes glanced up and almost in no normal way of interpreting it, Kirsty just furrowed her brow in frustration, repeating last week's incident:

"I was walking at night not too far from my father's home.." she snapped her fingers among the comfort of her other fingers, the sound echoed the clinic as her words hanged like a dead man in the air. "A man.." just like once more; it was difficult to talk about― so instead of a much less humane approach to resolve with inner conflict; Kirsty just dug her nails against her knees.

"The stranger, in-short had raped you, Miss Cotton.. if you do not come to terms with conflict that has already happened, then how else are you going to move on? Theres no other way that we can call it, other than that I'm afraid―"

Kirsty flipped out, slamming her hands against the glass tabletop, if she went any harder it would have threatened to break under her hands. "So what you're saying is that he's in the right for what he did?!". Tears clouded her vision, blurring, as the raw pain ached her heart and sense of being. The psychiatrist merely sighed, dismissing this session as defective, once more.

―――

Kirsty just seeped out a sigh between parted lips, entangling her fingers into her dark, straight hair, eyebrows knitting with one another in frustration as she walked alone, along the road towards her father's old home. She unintentionally was grasping the hem of her white shirt, feeling the fabric gradually dampen between sweaty fingers and her palm. Her father's home was still in-tact, regardless of all the damage that she witnessed with the Cenobites. Breathing out another sigh, she gradually walked closer towards the home; memories vividly grasping at the edges of her thoughts, with the home still physically in-tact; there was possibly no way that any of what she had witnessed was real, right?

Subconsciously, Kirsty's foot took a step backwards, slow and gradual as she then decided that it was in her best interest to make her own way home.

―――

Kirsty turned the silver knob of her shower room, all her senses bought to life once again as she felt the hot water pool against her feet before tilting her head slightly back to feel the water across her eyes. The warmth of the shower; the steam, humidity, had reminded her of her encounters with her leather-clad Cenobite.

A pair of hands had firmly grasped her breasts with a gentle squeeze, fingers sliding down against her nipples; feeling hard leather pull against her skin as they travelled down her body.

"Xipe.." Kirsty had greeted him with an unsteady breath, the tilt of her head backwards as her eyes steadily closed. Devoting all of her senses to his touch. His lips had trailed up along her neck, placing gentle kisses and sometimes sucking Kirsty's neck as he would do so; her skin would become blue-black marked territory from the prince of pain.

Kirsty's eyes had flown open, turning as she did so to find that he wasn't there where she believed him to be. Standing still as she felt the water, as physically gentle as it was ―it painfully reminding her of her reality. It had felt like a while before she would bruise her hand; hitting the tiled wall of her shower room; shaken and ridden with the burdens that reality had served her; Kirsty was blurring the line between her own and others' as she desperately held onto Xipe's existence, the existence of the Cenobites.

Time began to drag as she felt that crawling into a ball on the shower floor; sobbing in the shower would be a long while of suffering.


	3. Chapter 3: Deposition of the soul

**{{hello everybody! sorry that I've been away for such a while- life has been difficult but I'm trying to hang in there. I hope that any of you can understand c: I do hope to continue this story as its quite good so far, and i was just re-reading the story i had made just to catch myself up, but man, little did i know that i thought it was interesting so far c: anyhow, please leave reviews/comments as i need input for the output c: anyhow, enjoy! - sakura/rose}}**

Kirsty sat opposite her long time acquaintance, well, only friend more than anything else; Tiffany. Tiffany's eyes glanced up and down Kirsty— noting her posture and just how slumped she was from behind the table… perhaps that there was something really up with Kirsty?

"If you don't wanna talk, i can understand"

Hazel eyes eventually travelled more than any other one of her limbs in her body— going out more movement and sense of life than anything else, really. She looked close to being on the edge of death, eyes flooded with emptiness, the distancing of friendship accompanied with the designer heavy bags that were hanging just below her eyes. God she looked tired.

Eventually a mute voice had broken the attention from the emotional haze, "oh… Tiffany no, its okay, um…" she gently played with the straw in her glass of water, hearing the ice chime against the glass was beautiful yet it had a lining of madness to its message.

"I'll be okay—"

"Kirsty." Tiffany firmly spoke, shifting her coffee cup between now-closed palms. Savouring its warmth, wishing it was as much warmth that her friend would socially provide her, especially since that they haven't seen each other for at least a year since the death of Kirsty's husband.

Kirsty had glanced down lethargically to her glass, witnessing the faint appearance of a certain Cenobite amongst the contours and flats of her glass before Tiffany witnessed Kirsty flipping out; smashing the glass against her knuckles; watching in horror as her surrogate mother had pieces of broken glass amongst torn flesh. Kirsty didn't help the matter by smearing her wrist against the shattered pieces scattered elegantly on the table top. The artistic portrayal of gore at its finest, red against the body's canvas, an array of splatter effects that would turn anybody's stomach. Tiffany had to remain strong, she needed somebody who knew better; somebody who is a good figure to look up to.

Tiffany had the oddest feeling pooling in her gut that:

This is exactly how _he_ would have liked it.

"K-Kirsty— no no wait, let me handle it—"

"Fuck off, Tiffany…" with breathing scattered, shaken with unacquainted horror, filling her entire being right down to the core.

"Kirsty…"

Tiffany didn't know what else to do other than not to escalate whats already been made in this cafe. In the very least trying to avoid anymore unwanted attention and the critical opinions of the matter.

"This isn't like you, Kirsty… look, lets go elsewhere, this isn't in your best interest—"

"fine, you think you know me so well, how about you take a day in my shoes, bitch…" pushing fine hairs behind her ear with her uncut hand, still visibly shaking, it wasn't until the dripping of blood had escalated that curiosity had truly peaked.

Tiffany had inaudibly demanded to see her surrogate mother's wrist, dragging her forth until she could twist the limb in such a way to get what may now sleep the unrested questions blooming in her mind. Her artery.

"Kirsty…" she breathed in disbelief, immediately patching it up with a napkin beneath a once clean pair of utensils of their lunch out.

—

"Hello? This is Joanne Summerskill, I request more Kirsty Cotton tapes from the Channard Institute… yes I'll gladly hold"


End file.
